Nothing We Can't Handle
by drinkinthemoment
Summary: Snyder is back to torturing the boys (mostly Race) and making Jack feel guilty for failing to protect everyone. Can be read as stand-alone, but my other stories give it more context. Rated T for violence.


Each of the last three days, Snyder had chosen Race out of the morning line-up to face punishment in his office. It was rare to be chosen even two days in a row, and although Race was probably Snyder's favorite victim, no one knew why he was being picked again and again, because Snyder truly preferred boys who cried. And Race never cried. As the boys rubbed the sleep from their eyes standing in their designated locations, Snyder walked straight out of his room down the steps muttering, "Higgins" on his way, without even stopping to ensure the boys were standing at attention or putting on his regular show of dramatics pretending to decide who he was going to choose even though he always already knew. Race exchanged an annoyed glance with Jack, but dutifully followed his guardian down the stairs. After the previous three days of facing the belt among other tortures, he'd prefer not to have to do it a fourth in a row, but he reminded himself he was glad it was him and not one of the littles.

"Haven't you had enough of me, Spider?" Race dared as soon as the office door was closed.

"I was going to take it easy on you and skip the belt today, but are you asking for it, boy?"

"No sir," Race resigned, resisting the urge to retort with a witty comeback. His back was burning and if he were truly being offered a reprieve, he had to take it.

Snyder strode over to his wardrobe, the home to his torture devices, and selected a sturdy switch. "Palms out," he demanded, and Race complied. He hated this punishment because it forced him to face Spider and not externally express any pain he felt. Snyder showed no mercy as he brought the switch down on Race's hands. Race flinched with each strike, gritting his teeth and scrunching his nose, but he maintained his composure, focusing on his breathing just like Jack had taught him all those years ago. He was strong enough to handle this. He'd handled it before. But shit, it hurt. He avoided eye contact with Spider, instead watching his own hands as they began to fill with blood, but blood never signified that Spider would stop. No, he wasn't going to stop until the whole top layer of skin was missing. "You're going to clean up this mess, boy," Spider stated as if Race had intentionally bled onto the floor.

A bucket of soapy water was waiting for him in the corner, and as Snyder shoved it into his chest, Race couldn't help but smell the bleach which immediately made his head ache. This would burn his hands even if there weren't open wounds. He dreaded this task, but the faster he worked, the faster it would be over. He knelt to the floor and stalled as he stared at the scrub bush at the bottom of the bucket. "Both hands," Snyder ordered. Race took a deep breath and plunged both hands to the bottom and grabbed the brush as fast as he could. The bleach instantly discolored the skin on his whole hand, but the burning pain on his fresh wounds was indescribable. He dried his hands off on his pants, leaving handprint bloodstains down the front, but the burning pain remained. He got to work scrubbing at the blood on the floor, and just as it was gone, Snyder instructed that he clean the whole office. He tried to ignore the pain of his bleach-soaked hands and belt-whipped back. As long as Snyder was supervising him, he wasn't torturing someone else. When he finally finished, Snyder nodded approvingly. "Ready for your punishment?"

Race knew it was coming. He knew the switch and even the bleach was just Spider's warm-up, just as the belt had been the three days prior. He reluctantly took his shirt off and winced as the movement pulled at the fresh injury. Continuing to avoid eye contact, he sat on Snyder's desk as he knew was expected. He raised his left arm to expose the three deep horizontal cuts Snyder had carved into his side each of the previous days, ready (not really ready) for the fourth. Spider broke out his pocket knife and wasted no time digging it into Race's skin. Race stayed strong, letting out only a small hiss as he dragged the knife over the particularly sensitive skin over his ribs. When it was over, Race waited for the bleeding to stop to put his shirt back on. He had somehow hidden this new torture from his brothers and he intended to continue to do so. With a nod, he knew he was dismissed, so he quickly left the office and returned to his room where Jack and Crutchie waited anxiously.

"You okay?" Jack questioned.

"You know how Spider is such a kind man? So generous; a true hero, you could say! He spared my back today," Race stated sarcastically, holding up his hands for his brothers to see the damage. Jack and Crutchie's palms ached in sympathy, as both had faced that punishment before.

"Shit, is that bleach?" Crutchie questioned smelling it from across the room, and Race replied with a sad nod.

"How bad are you hurt, Racer?" The classic question Jack asked everyone.

"Nothin' we can't handle," Race assured with a half smile, his standard response.

The rest of the day passed without much excitement. Davey stopped by the window with some scraps of food his family could spare that they graciously accepted and tried to split evenly among the 15 boys, though that meant Jack didn't eat again and Race refused too so the others could have more. At nightfall, the boys quickly fell asleep cuddled together as always and as was necessary in their tiny bed. "Jack?" Crutchie asked sounding slightly panicked. "Why is Race bleeding?" Jack curiously looked to Race's palms. "Not from there," Crutchie corrected, pointing at Race's left side where his shirt was stained maroon.

"What the hell is this?" Jack demanded, examining the four slices into Race's skin and effectively waking him out of his sleep.

"Spider's new favorite torture," Race answered solemnly, knowing Jack would be upset he hadn't told him sooner. They applied pressure until he bleeding slowed and eventually stopped. "Got one each of the last four days. And Jack," Race's tone was rarely this serious. "I don't think I can take anymore."

"I know. You're okay, Racer," Jack tried to soothe, knowing often Race just needed a little reassurance that he was tough, stronger than Spider.

"No, Jack," Race clarified. "If he picks me again tomorrow morning, I really don't think I can do it."

That's when Jack _actually_ heard what Race had said. For the first time ever, Race was saying would rather someone else be hurt than himself. Jack's heart sunk, realizing how truly bad off Race must be. "Okay, we'll figure something out."

But the next morning as the boys stood shoulder to shoulder in their line, Snyder was almost gleeful as he paced in front of them. "It's day five," he announced as if that meant something to anyone. Jack opened his mouth to advocate for Race, but before he could, Snyder had already grabbed him by the arm and started down the stairs. "Everyone come watch," he demanded. The boys helplessly followed Race and Snyder to his office where they reassembled into their assigned positions as if they were still in the upstairs hallway. "Shirt off," Snyder demanded without directing it at anyone, but Race knew who he meant. He removed his shirt, left it at his place in line, and cautiously stepped forward.

"No wait!" Jack yelled, remembering the promise he'd made Race in their bed. "Not Race again. Pick someone else."

Snyder raised his eyebrows at Jack, anger filling him for a moment that Jack would disrespect him and his decision in front of everyone, but quickly realizing that if Jack suggested picking someone else instead of Racetrack, it must mean he was really hurt, and that made Snyder happy. "Okay," he acquiesced, though Jack knew better, that there was going to be a catch. "Who would you rather I punish today?"

Jack nervously glanced down the line at his brothers. He didn't want to have to choose one, but whoever he did pick would understand once they saw what had happened to Race.

"No," Race protested. "It's fine, I'm fine, I can take it. No one else needs to be punished." Jack widened his eyes at Race, glancing specifically at his blood-stained shirt. Race looked down at his side too, then returned eye contact with Jack. "Jack, I'm fine. I can do it." Jack shook his head hesitantly but didn't argue further as Race stood face-to-face with Spider.

"Do you want your real punishment first or would you like a warm up with the belt?" Race knew he wasn't really getting a choice. He gave Snyder a brave glare as he bent over the desk, gripping the sides, the cool polished wood actually feeling soothing on his injured hands. He should have known he wasn't getting off that easy. Snyder grabbed his wrists and extended his arms straight out above his head. Doing so made it much more difficult to relax the back muscles which added an extra sting with each lash of the belt. And in Race's current case, it meant his wounds tucked under his arm were now exposed and vulnerable, as if the sensitive skin over his ribs wouldn't have hurt enough already. "Higgins, do you trust that everyone in this room knows how to count?" Snyder asked.

"Um, yessir," he replied tentatively.

"Great, then they'll keep count for us, taking turns, one at a time."

When the leather hits skin, there's an instant stinging pain followed by a slow burn like fire that settles as a red stripe appears. In Race's case, the skin was too fragile to hold up against even one lash, and it instantly broke open leaving blood to trickle down his sides. Jack was the first in line, so as the belt came down on Race's already bruised back, he was the one to announce solemnly, "one sir."

Crutchie was next, adding "two sir" as the second lash fell before Race had a chance to catch his breath.

Race breathed deeply. There's only 14 boys; he could take 14 lashes. He began to count down as the boys counted up. He heard "three sir" and he thought, "only 12 left." After the seventh, he knew he was already half way there. He could easily take seven more; this was fine. He was choosing to ignore what he knew was coming after, only even remembering his cuts existed when the end of the belt would hit against one of them causing extra pain.

Romeo was the last in line. "Fourteen sir," he stated, breathing a sigh of relief along with everyone else in the room that it was over.

Race closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, resting momentarily on the cool wood of the desk, still not allowing his thoughts to wander to the four cuts on his ribs and the fifth that would surely soon be added. Just focusing on breathing. Which is why he wasn't mentally prepared for it at all when another lash of the belt fell. "Uh, fifteen sir?" Jack wasn't expecting it to continue either, but he figured it was his turn to keep counting.

"Sixteen sir," Crutchie continued. Race had to refocus. 28 total. That was still fine. He could do that. He stopped listening to the counting and keeping track in his head himself. He reminisced about the time he was sentenced to 50 lashes, but Jack distracted Spider when he was on number 46, so he started over totaling 96 lashes in one day, a record as far as any of the boys knew. Jack still felt guilty about that, and Race made sure to bring it up anytime he wanted special treatment from Jack, though he had long since forgiven him. Rather, he had never blamed him in the first place.

Race was jolted out of his memory by Jack's voice yelling, "Okay, Spider, that's enough!" Race assumed he was supposed to have said, "29 sir."

Race held his breath, waiting to be punished harshly for his brother's outburst, but Snyder just ordered that he prepare for his real punishment and that Jack come hold him down. Barely able to stand, Race somehow managed to push himself onto the desk and hold his arm across his chest so Snyder could access his side. He just wanted it to be over. Jack climbed onto the desk just behind him, sitting in the pool of blood that had already made its way to the wood and pulling Race against his body. He crossed Race's arms over his chest and held them tightly in his own, ignoring the fact that the front of his shirt was now covered in blood too. "Day five," Snyder smiled menacingly as he pulled out his pocket knife, placing it against Race's skin just below the cut he'd made yesterday. Race closed his eyes and tried to relax into Jack's embrace. He quickly noticed that Snyder was dragging the knife vertically instead of horizontally; he was no longer maintaining the parallel lines, but crossing diagonally through the previous four. He wasn't making lines at all, he was making tally marks, the fifth crossing the rest. This is why Spider was so excited about "day five." This cut was infinitely more painful than the rest. It was the longest, it traveled across already tender damaged skin, and it forced each of the other poorly-healing cuts to reopen. Race let out a pitiful whimper and tried to pull away, but Jack held him tighter, knowing it would be worse if he moved.

Race kept his eyes shut tight and had no way to gauge how long this would go on. Was time standing still or was Spider intentionally being slow to prolong the torture? As if Jack could read his thoughts, he quietly soothed, "almost done, Racer, almost done." As Snyder crossed the last slice, the oldest one that he'd made four days ago, he snapped his pocket knife closed. He paced in front of the line of boys who all stood mouths agape as a warning that could happen to them. Race collapsed against Jack who maintained his tight squeeze. Snyder dismissed them all, and Jack and Specs practically had to carry Race up the stairs and deposit him in his bed. "How bad are ya hurt, Racer?" Race barely opened one eye as his answer to that ridiculous question. "Hey, hey, nothing we can't handle, right?" Race grunted in response, but he was fading fast. Jack pressed a kiss to his temple, noting how warm his skin was.

He reached for the phone he used in case of emergencies. "Race fever," was all he had to write and send in the group text made up of Katherine, Davey, and Medda. The three of them would then work out who could bring medicine or what next steps were needed. Not too much longer later, Katherine was on the fire escape outside their window. Jack gave her a quick kiss, but hurriedly held out his hand waiting for the medicine she brought. However, the instant she laid eyes on him, she noticed how sick Race looked and instead handed Jack a thermometer. He'd never used one before. He knew he didn't need it; Race's skin was on fire, there was no doubt that he had a fever. Still, Katherine coached Jack how to wedge it into Race's ear, because she had a bad feeling about what his temperature would be. Race, barely conscious, didn't react at all. Jack watched the numbers climb, not sure what they meant, but eventually a beeping sound happened, and he pulled it out, glancing at it quickly before showing Katherine. "Is 104.7 bad?" he asked innocently.

Katherine tried to hide her fear. "Uh, it's pretty bad." She hesitated. "Like probably needs-the-hospital bad." Jack groaned. "It's definitely call-Miss-Medda bad, and I would argue it's teetering on call-911 bad."

"If he goes to the hospital, he doesn't come home," Jack reminded her, trying to stay calm, but any semblance of calm was quickly draining. His greatest fear, greater than being whipped by Spider, greater than his brothers being whipped by Spider, is his brothers being taken away. The four parallel cuts could have passed for an accidental scratch against something. Now that there was a fifth, a clear tally mark, it was obvious this was child abuse. Kids don't get discharged from the hospital back to homes where their skin gets carved up and their backs get whipped so bad there's barely skin left to carve.

Miss Medda would know what to do. After a phone call and some time to gather her things, she was ringing the doorbell, arms overflowing with food. Snyder let her in and she yelled up the stairs, "Dinner's here, boys!" Snyder didn't really care when Medda brought food. He liked that the boys were hungry because it made them weaker and easier to control, but the real reason he didn't feed them was that he'd rather pocket the money himself than spend it on three meals per day for them. All the boys came running, greeted Medda with hugs and helped take the items from her. "Where's Racetrack?" Medda questioned.

Snyder gave Jack a stern look, a warning to be discreet. "He's sleeping. He's not feeling too well." Jack quickly realized this was part of Medda's plan. Now she'd have to go check on him, could pretend to discover his fever, and demand Snyder get him medicine.

"Hey, baby," Medda sat down on the edge of Race's bed. His body was pale and limp, he didn't respond to her touch at all. Jack had followed her up the stairs to show her his cuts. "Oh, Jack, these are infected. He needs the hospital." Before Jack could open his mouth to argue, she added, "I wouldn't say it if I didn't think it was absolutely necessary." Jack hesitated, but he could see how serious Miss Medda was being.

"How you gonna convince Spider to let you take him?"

"The last thing he wants is a dying kid on his hands." Jack's eyes widened. "Sorry, baby, I shouldn't have said that. He's not dying. He's just... we can't let him get worse."

As predicted, when Snyder realized how high Race's fever was, he had to let Medda take him to get checked out. He had always trained the boys how to lie to people who asked how they got their injuries. Mostly that involved threats and reminders that he was their last hope of staying together. Somehow, they loved each other even more than they hated him, so it always worked.

Medda pushed an unconscious Race into the emergency department in a wheelchair and they were immediately brought back to a room. She knew it was bad when he didn't even flinch at the needle stick. His blood was being sucked into tubes, fluids and antibiotics replacing it. "This will help him perk up soon," the kind nurse stated, and Medda returned her gentle smile.

When Race finally opened his eyes, he was instantly comforted by Medda's presence and reassuring touch, though the fear of not knowing what was happening and the pain throughout his whole body became overwhelming soon after.

The nurse entered to take another set of vitals. "Still got a fever, but it's coming down nicely," she showed Medda the thermometer which read 102. "Now are you going to tell us what happened?" Race shook his head. "Baby, you can't come in looking like that and not let us investigate. Someone did this to you, and you don't deserve this." Race knew that. No one deserved what he and his brothers went through. But if he was honest with these strangers, he'd be sent away immediately, then his brothers after him, and they'd never see each other again and it would be all his fault.

"I did it to myself," he lied, but could immediately tell the nurse wasn't buying it.

"Racetrack, baby, be honest," Medda urged.

"Okay, somebody did it to me, but it was an accident."

"Racetrack."

"Okay, somebody did it to me on purpose, but... it's nothing I can't handle."

"No one should have to _handle_ this," the nurse lectured. "Were these made with a pocket knife?" she questioned, gently running her fingers along his ribs. "And your back, and your hands..."

Race closed his eyes sheepishly. He was hoping they hadn't seen all of that. "Speaking of... you gonna hook me up with some pain meds?"

"I have some right here," she patted her pocket. "Was just waiting for you to wake up." The nurse injected a syringe through Race's IV and he instantly felt funny. His limbs were heavy and his head started slowly spinning. He giggled a bit.

"Miss Medda, I gotta take some of this home for the next time Spider breaks out the whip!"

"There's not going to be a next time, Racetrack."

"Oh yeah, because I'm getting taken away," Race was too high to care what he was saying. "Promise me you'll take some to Jack though, for the next time Spider wants to use it on anybody. With me gone, he's gonna have to find a new favorite. I bet it'll be Finch. He's-"

"Baby," Medda interrupted. "There's not going to be a next time for anyone. The hospital, they've already called child protective services." Race's eyes grew panicked. He was never going to see his brothers again. He tried to stand up and pull his IV out of his arm but he was still weak with fever, not to mention not eating in several days. Miss Medda grabbed both of his hands and spoke gently so he'd relax. "They're not sending anyone away, Racetrack. Where are they going to find 15 families ready to take on rowdy teenaged boys?! They're going to hire someone new to stay with you all at the group home. Someone who's going to feed you three meals a day. Someone who doesn't use belts or whips or pocket knives for punishment."

"Did they check the closet?" Race asked. Medda glanced at the closet in the hospital room, confused, assuming the pain meds were messing with his brain. "Not that closet. The one in Spider's office. Someone's in there. He always keeps someone in there."

"We'll make sure they check," Medda assured, realizing Race was never this forthcoming with information about Snyder. With the medication lowering his threshold to talk, she encouraged him to continue while the medical team and social services investigators stood quietly in the corner. "What else did he do?"

"Well you've seen my hands. Did you see my back? Not sure if you can see the scars buried under the fresh wounds but they're there. The first time he used the belt on me was when I was six, maybe two days after I moved in. Jack taught me how to stay calm and breathe because I spent that whole first beating screaming my head off and crying. Jack made me promise to not cry anymore, because Spider liked picking on the kids who cry. Spider never saw me cry again after that first time. But Jack would still let me cry later, when it was just him and me, because a good belt whipping can hurt for days. Not like the real whip, though. That baby hurts so bad you can't see straight. The worst day of my whole life was when Spider caught me stealing food from his stash because the boys hadn't eaten in three or four days and I thought for sure I was gonna get the whip, but he knew what an even worse punishment would be, and he made me watch as he whipped Romeo. Romeo who was totally innocent in this whole mess! It was his first time, and I'll never forget him screaming. I tried to tell him to stay calm and breathe like Jack told me, but he couldn't hear me. Other people don't exist when you're getting whipped. You just live in your own world of pain. And when it's done, your brain can't understand what your body just went through and for the next week, you can't breath or walk or think right. I don't think we ate for another three days after that, but I was never gonna try to steal food from Spider again. Anyway, that's why I want some of this here medicine to take home because it's making me feel funny and I don't even think Spider's whip could make me feel bad with this in my system."

The investigators had long since stopped writing on their pads and instead listened intently in shock. Miss Medda had all but climbed into bed with Race and wrapped him in the biggest hug she could without hurting him further. "Oh baby, I knew it was bad, but I didn't know it was that bad. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry I didn't do more sooner."

"More? Miss Medda, you're the only reason we ate most of the time. You're probably the only reason we're all still alive." She smiled and nodded with tears in her eyes, hugging him still. "Anyway, when am I getting out of here?"

The nurse quietly stepped forward. "You have an infection from those cuts that made its way into your blood. You'll need a few more days of antibiotics through the IV before you can go home with antibiotics you can take by mouth."

"Ya got food here?" The nurse handed Race a menu, which made his eyes light up. He'd never gotten to pick from a menu before. "Do ya think the boys can come visit?"

"Jack has already texted, and he'll be here soon."

Jack arrived just as Race's food did. "I thought a cheeseburger and fries was a good place to start," he said through a big bite. Jack and Medda laughed as he shoveled more food into his already-overflowing mouth. "Sorry I'm being rude, but I haven't eaten in days." Jack shot Race a warning glance and looked around with panic to see who might have heard that. "Don't worry, Jack, I already told them everything. I know I wasn't supposed to, but my brain feels like it's doing somersaults inside my head. I think they tricked me. Anyway, Miss Medda said it's gonna be fine because they're not gonna find families that want us and someone else will just move in when Spider moves out. But if you didn't know about all this, I guess they didn't come to arrest him yet. Who's in the closet?"

That was a lot for Jack to take in. He had plenty he wanted to say but couldn't think fast enough to organize all his thoughts, so he resigned to just answering Race's question. "Albert."

"Hmm, it's been a while since he's been in there. He'll be alright. I'm surprised it's not Crutchie. His leg hasn't been right. Have you noticed that, Jack? I sure did, and I would have thought Spider did too. Maybe he's been too focused on me lately. He loves putting Crutchie in the closet when he's already hurting. Guess we should be glad it's not him. Poor Albert though. But he'll be okay."

Jack gave Race a small smile. He had always been a talker, but this was excessive. "That's some good medicine they got you on, huh?"

"Hah, yeah it is. That's why I was telling them we gotta take some of it home, but then they told me that Spider won't be there anymore. It is making my head spin bad. I think if I tried to stand up, I'd fall right over. Wanna see?" Race made a move to get out of bed, but both Jack and Medda pushed him back before he got too far.

"Why don't you just relax, Racer, okay?"

"Yeah, you're right. I should relax. It's nice that I know I won't be carved up by a pocket knife tomorrow. I wonder if he was gonna give me a sixth," Race glanced down at his scars, seeming to count how many more could have fit down his side. "I hope someone takes his pocket knife and stabs him in the eye."

"Yeah, me too," Jack laughed.

Jack and Medda watched as the medicine wore off and Racetrack regressed to talking only as much as he normally does to talking only as much as a normal person does to not talking at all and wincing in pain with every movement. They requested more medicine, but it seemed everyone was busy, so Jack resorted to his usual comfort measures of running a hand through his hair until Race fell asleep. Jack kissed him and Medda goodbye then went back to the group home. He climbed through his window and was surprised to find Crutchie not in their bed, so he peaked out into the hallway and heard commotion downstairs. He hurried down to find all the boys talking louder than the next with a bunch of important-looking strangers with pens and notebooks. DSS workers.

"Jack, Jack!" Albert was the first one who spotted him, running towards him. Jack could only think Race would be happy to know he was out of the closet; he had brought it up in conversation several times over. "They took Spider away in handcuffs! They said Race told them everything and they want to know more. They want to take pictures of us to use against him in court. What do we do?"

"Jack Kelly?" One of the social workers approached. "They say you've been here the longest. Can we talk?" This was all happening so fast. An hour ago, he was just hoping Race was going to live and now... now everything was changing.

"Did they all get food?" Jack still had his priorities in order, not quite remembering that he himself hadn't eaten in days and everyone else had a feast from Miss Medda just hours earlier.

"Dinner is on its way," the stranger assured him.

"Is Race okay?" Crutchie approached Jack for the first time.

"Yeah, he'll be fine. They had him pretty hopped up on pain meds, he wouldn't shut up. Like even worse than usual." That filled Crutchie with relief as he tried to picture how Race could possibly talk even more than usual.

"Spider is going to _murder_ him."

That was Jack's first instinct, too. But on his walk home from the hospital, he had more time to think. He had been living under Spider's reign of terror for twelve years. That was twelve years of torture, twelve years of being threatened and told this was his last chance, brainwashed into thinking without Snyder, he'd be living on the streets or worse. Slowly but surely new kids trickled in and he fell in love with each one after the next, only fueling Snyder's threats, that he was the only way they could all stay together. In all the opportunities he'd had to tell someone about this nightmare, he always shied away for fear he'd never see his brothers again. How selfish of him to put everyone through such misery for so long because he loved them too much to say goodbye. Race had finally been brave enough (albeit drugged) to stand up for their brothers, and now they had to follow through.

"Hey!" Jack yelled to get everyone's attention and the room instantly fell silent. "Shirts off, everyone." He was met with only confused looks. "We've been lying way too long. It's time to be honest and show these people what Spider has done to us all these years. Now everyone, take your shirts off." The boys complied as the investigators looked on in horror. "Now, Spider's been pickin' on Race the past five days, so none of these wounds are too fresh, but you can see scars on everyone here. Was Albert still in the closet when you got here?"

"Nah," Albert replied. "Finchie got me out as soon as they came for Spider."

"Then show 'em the closet," Jack directed. "And the wardrobe!" The boys grabbed DSS workers by the hand and showed them into Snyder's office. Jack quietly pulled Crutchie behind the rest of the group. "Racer started it, but we gotta finish it. We gotta go big. Spider can never see the light of day again. Or you're right; he'll murder Race." Crutchie nodded and the two followed the rest of the boys to hear they were already doing the work for them.

"He used to feed us one meal a day when I first got here. Then it turned to once every other day, then maybe once a week. Now the only food we get is what we can scrounge out of the trashcan or what Jack's friends sneak us through the window."

"No, I haven't had a hot shower in years."

"I've never had a hot shower in my life!"

"One time he hit me so hard I blacked out."

"I blacked out in the closet once."

"I never went to school before, but Specs taught me how to read and I'm working on my maths too."

It was reassuring to hear everyone supporting Race's confession, but listening to these words in sequence made Jack want to vomit. How had he let it get this bad? How had he let it go on this long? His breathing was quickening and temperature rising as Crutchie approached and gently nudged him with his shoulder. "You did everything right, Jack. Never doubt that."

"I messed up big. I should have fought for you. I let him torture you. And all of them."

"Hey, nothing we can't handle, right?" Jack tried to return Crutchie's comforting smile, but was interrupted by his phone ringing. It was an unfamiliar feeling, as no one had ever called him before; it would have been too risky. But now with Spider gone, it was safe.

"Hey Miss Medda," he answered.

"Race can't sleep without two other bodies in his bed."

"On my way," Jack laughed. "Hey boys, it's bedtime. Go on upstairs. Crutchie and I are sleeping at the hospital tonight, but we'll be back in the morning."

Jack and Crutchie walked in to find Race shoveling his third carton of jello into his mouth. "Jack! Crutchie! You gotta try this stuff. It's like food and water at the same time. You can swallow without chewing. I tried red and orange and green. I think the red is my favorite. Wonder if there's more red?"

"They gave you more meds?" was Jack's only response. Race nodded with a smile. "Bedtime, Racer. Finish your jello." Jack and Crutchie climbed into either side of the bed and snuggled him close. "Hey, you did good, Racer. You did so good. He's gone and everyone's safe."

"Wow I'm a hero," he replied sleepily, which made everyone laugh.

"Just like I been tellin' ya, there's nothing we can't handle."


End file.
